Page 162 of Bleed with Me

But fuck, at two in the morning, twenty minutes from Manhattan, it wasn’t easy. My eyes searched desperately for lights. A gas station. A diner. Anything. However, there was nothing but rain, trees, and an empty road.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, my stomach turning to knots. This surely wasn’t how I imagined my night would go.

“Okay,” I whispered, checking the mirror for the tenth time in less than thirty seconds. “Let’s play.”

The Jaguar roared when I buried my foot into the accelerator. Water sprayed behind me as I cut through two yellow lights and took another unnecessary turn. Those sharp moves answered my questions quickly. I was followed by professionals. No panic in their driving. They made no reckless moves.

Trying to calm my erratic breathing, I reached for my phone. No signal.

“What the fuck?”

The screen blinked. No service.

Cold settled in my bones. They were using a jammer.

Fuck!

I took the next intersection far too fast, tires squealing over soaked asphalt. The Jaguar responded beautifully, the distance between me and the SUV growing for a few precious seconds. I exhaled heavily, looking into every mirror, but they were gone, until…

The headlights appeared in front of me. Another SUV. It slowly rolled across both lanes.

“Seriously?” I whined, slamming the brakes. ABS shuddered beneath my foot as the Jaguar came to a violent stop only yards from the black vehicle, and the blinding headlights emerged behind me again. I was boxed in.

The doors opened almost in unison. Six men stepped into the rain, their dark jackets soaking through within seconds. None of them hurried. None of them looked nervous.

Panic clawed at my insides as I threw the car into reverse. A third vehicle slid out from a narrow side road and blocked my escape before I moved more than a few feet.

“Shit,” I cursed, glancing at the men outside.

The driver’s door jerked, but it was locked. A fist smashed the window. Not hard enough to shatter it, just enough to make me look. The man smiled wickedly, rain dripping from his forehead into his eyes as he pointed toward the passenger side. I looked, and my blood froze. Another stood there with a handgun, aiming directly at me.

In a split second, the passenger window exploded inward, and I instinctively covered my head. An arm shot through the broken glass, unlocked the door, and another man yanked it open.

With a snarl, I drove my elbow into his jaw. He cursed, but managed to grab my wrist.

“Get off me!” I yelled, twisting violently. My long nails sank into the soft flesh, drawing blood across someone’s face. A deep grunt and a curse echoed around me, and a punch landed in my side, momentarily stealing my breath.

“Boss said no bruises!” someone shouted.

“I’m trying!”

Strong hands wrapped around my waist and shoulders, caging me. I bit the nearest arm. Hard. The man screamed like a pussy, jerking away while another immediately replaced him.

“Jesus Christ!” he roared, slapping me across the face.

“I said no fucking bruises!”

They dragged me out, rain drenching me instantly. My feet dug into the wet asphalt, battling for every inch. My heart hammered in my chest, pumped with adrenaline as I fought with all my might.

“You’ll need more than six!” I shouted, driving the heel of my boot into someone’s knee. He folded with a groan, and I laughed maniacally. Still, when they pulled a black hood over my head, the fun was over. Darkness swallowed everything.

I kept kicking and clawing, hearing men swear in Italian.

“She’s even worse than they said!”

A pair of rough hands forced mine behind my back, and plastic restraints bit into my wrists. My stomach flipped when I was lifted off the ground and thrown on a leather seat.

The door slammed, and the engine started before I fully landed. My training kicked in. Grandpa didn’t teach me only how to fight. He taught me how to survive after losing. I counted every turn, every acceleration, every stop, my head pounding from the concentration.